


Carve My Heart

by D4tD (dance4thedead)



Series: Y2k [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alexander Pierce (cameo) - Freeform, Cults, Dehumanization, Gaslighting, Gun Kink, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2020, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Lube, Pining, Referenced Anal Gaping, Steve Rogers (cameo) - Freeform, Touch-Starved, Unreliable Narrator, referenced gangbang, survival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/D4tD
Summary: The year is 2001 and however much speculation Rumlow did about it in advance, he has to admit that "death by babysitting Hydra's favorite plaything" isn't how he thought he'd go out.-----Stand alone prequel to "They Don't Make It Like This Anymore"
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Y2k [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085201
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2020





	Carve My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamatrashCAN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamatrashCAN/gifts).



> Title from "Good Enough" by Evanescence 
> 
> Gift for IamatrashCAN, who asked for some Rumlow/Bucky brainwashed non-con! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> BTB fill for "Prostitution & Gambling."

This is it, Rumlow knows as soon as he learns of his assignment. The organization that got him out from a tight spot with the law was coming to collect its price. He knew that Hydra did some shady shit, but having what had become his family turn on him cut somewhere deep.

It shouldn't, really. He was aware from the get-go, from the moment the recruiter handshaked him, that it was borrowed time. The past two years hes been alive and not incarcerated was more than he deserved to begin with, by all sane measures. 

But you can't survive on only what you're due. You can't. The entire machine of society is out to get you once Fate deals you a piss-poor hand. And she don't care whether that's "fair" or not. 

However much speculation Rumlow did about it in advance, he has to admit that "death by babysitting Hydra's favorite plaything" isn't how he thought he'd go out. But reading between the lines of needing to defrost the dense fucker to avoid a "computer glitch", Rumlow can tell that they're really just wanting to thin out the ranks a bit. 

So he's in a safehouse. A cottage looking thing way too cutesy for Hydra to own and in the outskirts of fucking Wisconsin. The Asset is trembling on the living room couch and Rumlow is drinking his way through a six-pack of spotted cow like it's the last thing thing he'll ever do, because it very well may be.

Jack got sent on this suicide mission, too. Jackass was sure to let the Asset know not to try anything, or the place will be bombed to smithereens. Then his pretty little self fucked off to the upstairs shower, hogging up all the hot water and leaving Rumlow to deal with the aftermath of 200lbs of skittish, braindead assassin.

The bombing isn't an idle threat, as far as Rumlow knows, but he's if anything is going to kill him today, he's sure it's the fact that this mission came with the disclaimer "Be advised the Asset may regain some semblance of personhood while out of stasis for this length of time. Proceed with standard protocol." So yeah, maybe he doesn't tell the it that the distant explosions outside are just fireworks because the more scared it is, the better chance Rumlow has at surviving the night. Sue him.

He's just about to crack open another bottle when the Asset appears behind him, like some cult horror movie crap. Rumlow shoves the sudden onslaught of panic back, slowly lowering the beer to the counter top. He does his damnedest to hide the shake from his hands.

"Soldier," he says as firmly as he can manage, and thank fuck it snaps to attention "what do you think you're doing?"

The Asset hangs its head, working its lips around words for a moment before its able to produce sound. "Mission?"

"Your mission was to stay put."

The Asset frowns. It tries again with, "Malfunction." 

"You're not malfunctioning, you're remembering. Don't mean any of the other rules change."

"Remembering. Is. Punishable?" the Asset struggles out. 

"Yeah."

He's ready for the Asset to take a lunge at him, to grab the bottle again and slam it against its temple as a final parting gift. He's carrying but he knows he'd be dead the second his hand goes in the neighborhood of his holster.

The sound of fireworks outside. Something subtle shifts behind the Asset's eyes and then it starts surveying the kitchen frantically, gaze flickering into every corner. 

"Where's Steve?" it asks desperately. "I need to find him. I don't have a gift for him this year..."

It trails off as it stares out the window. Rumlow checks too, just to be safe. There's snow on the ground but no foot prints or signs of life as far as he can see out.

"It's not...It's winter. It's..." 

It's truly fascinating watching all four cylinders fire as it puts the pieces together. The fireworks. The fact that its not being wiped. "It's New Years."

Clever boy, Rumlow thinks, and has to catch himself from smiling. It's adorable really. Like watching a toddler learn how to walk.

"New Years Eve," he corrects.

The Asset huffs out a little laugh, leaning back onto the kitchen island and turning more human than Rumlow is comfortable with. "This is considerably more scaled back than last year's celebration."

"Oh, yeah." Rumlow says as he edges away. Keeping his body open but buying two, three seconds. He's got an ace up his sleeve but he's not ready to whip it out until the moment he absolutely has to. There's already a round in the chamber but he knows he won't have time to square up, just quick draw and squeeze off as many rounds as he can before he gets his skull bashed in.

"The first one, your asshole was wide open for days."

"You weren't there," the Asset says, suddenly dark and serious and certain.

One more step backwards. "No, but I was afterwards. I was the one who cleaned you up. You remember that?"

The Asset doesn't reply. Rumlow takes that as a "no". So his gentle treatment was a waste after all. Figures.

"I was kind to you." Rumlow says, watching the Asset continue to crunch the numbers in its head. 

"Will you be kind to me now?" 

And that's not a proposition. That's a warning and an observation that the only thing standing between the Asset and freedom at the moment is him. There aren't even fucking bars on the window.

A stray thought crosses his mind of a meeting two days before. Some pale suited politician he'd never met before walked him out, commenting "He gets sentimental when he's out of cryo too long. Capitalize on that." Then a pat on a back. Pretty rich coming from one of the higher ups who probably set him up. Jackass. 

Typically, the Asset would have zero qualms over mowing through opponents, Hydra or otherwise. But if what he was told were true enough and the guy was genuinely trying to give him a fighting chance...

Rumlow keeps his hands visible and moves slowly, reaching for a beer and then sliding it across the counter to the Asset. A gesture to say 'I can be kind, within the latitude I'm given.'

The Asset cocks a head at it. "One cold one's supposed to make us square?"

"Whatever you're cooking in that fried up brain yours, you know it'll be easier without four new holes in you."

"Four? Don't flatter yourself, Brock."

His name in the Asset's mouth is disorienting. Terrifying, on the one hand. On the other...

"Say my name again."

It takes the Asset a moment to realize that's an invitation, not a threat. "Brock. Rumlow."

Blood is rushing down into his dick and it's wrong, so wrong. It's the adrenaline. It's the fact that Jack Rollins is in the shower above them and Rumlow has been imagining the other agent wet and naked for months.

"No one needs to get hurt," the Asset says clear as day that it knows what's up.

"I scratch your back sorta deal, huh?" 

The Asset unbuckles its belt and lowers his pants. Its hairless: legs, pubic bone, and balls. It turns to put its mismatched hands on the counter, glancing back at Rumlow to say, "If we have a deal."

"There's another agent upstairs," Rumlow says around his dry throat, still drawing closer. "You don't hurt him."

"Why don't you go upstairs and leave me down here?" the Asset suggests in a way that's probably meant to be playfully coy. 

Rumlow grabs a fistful of the Asset's ass, squeezing his fingers into it.

"He's the one you want, after all." 

Something about the triggers Rumlow, and he forces the Asset over, mashing its face to Formica. "Shut up."

He jams a dry middle finger into its hot asshole. The Asset lets out a moan (okay, honestly more of a scream).

Rumlow fucks the Asset on his fingers for a good while, and it feels goddamn powerful. The Asset is getting all squirmy and tensing its fingers like the proper whore it is.

He starts touching himself at the same time. The Asset isn't even pinned down but he's not going anywhere, not now that it's cock-crazy. Not now that it's rocking back on his knuckles, wordlessly begging for more.

Rumlow gently slaps his dick against the Asset's butt to watch it jiggle, fucks up the crack of the Asset's ass a couple times. 

The Asset climbing toward orgasm and Rumlow's not done with him yet. He wants pay back for the power imbalance of earlier. He wants it to be miserable.

"I have something to tell you," Rumlow says, tipping the metaphorical ace from his sleeve the very moment the Asset's mouth falls open in ecstasy. "I know your words."

At that, the Asset starts to struggle, starts to helplessly whine. Rumlow, ever the opportunist, take that moment to pop the head of his dick inside.

It's good. It feels fucking glorious and it's downright comical that the moment it gets a dick in it, the Winter Soldier, of all things that go bump in the night, goes as pliant as a scuffed kitten.

It dry going, but it's tight and the right side of painful for him, and he comes with his teeth in the back of the Asset's shirt to avoid crying out anything he'd regret later.

When the Asset pushes himself back upright and turns toward him, it's to face the barrel of his gun.

"We had a deal," the Asset hisses, pulling up his pants over his blood and come streaked thighs. "Liar."

"I never lie. You believed what you wanted."

"I thought you were different. I thought you were nice."

"I am." Rumlow actually chuckles. "I didn't say your words from the start and fuck you unconscious. That's gotta count for something. And from the sound of you, it was a good fuck."

The Asset grimaces and buckles its belt. "I thought we could work something out between us. You're expendable to them, you know that?"

It bites its lip for a moment, then doubles down on the tactic. "Run away with me. We both want out, and not in a body bag."

Rumlows eyes narrow.

"Do you really want this the rest of your life, Brock? A life of half-truths and... and rape?"

And Rumlow thinks about it. For a moment, indulging in that dream reality. No order through pain, no cutting through civilians and anyone unlucky enough to fall into Hydra's bad graces.

Rumlow lowers and holsters his gun. The Asset lets out a grateful sigh of relief.

But just then, they hear Jack starting down the steps. When he comes into view, Jack takes a look at the two of them and asks, "The hell's going on?"

"Nothing," Rumlow says and pops open the last beer, surprising the Asset by placing it in its hand.

"You being all sweet on the Soldier again?" Jack goads. "You trying to make me jealous?"

Rumlow ducks out of the kitchen to avoid answering, going into the other room to put some music on. Queen, and on vinyl. Because unlike his taste in men, Rumlow's taste in music isn't shit. 

"Why do you even bother?" Jack calls after him, but Rumlow pretends the music drowned him out. He didn't need to know how on the head he hit that nail.

Rumlow finds a spot on the sofa. The Asset settles next to him, wallowing in despair. He reaches out a hand and the Asset goes easy into his touch again. And for the life of him, Rumlow doesn't know if that's how Bucky Barnes has always been, or if he's helped train that into it.

Either way, if Jack wants a reason, he could certainly give him a show.

Then something about the melody and lyrics playing makes him lean over and say in a barely audible whisper "One day." 

He almost regrets the cruelty of it as soon as he says it.

\----------

It's been an odd year with fewer people chasing him across the globe and less smiley happy people on TV. He's bored and he's too comfortable. In a way, the running and looking over his shoulder is the shit he lives for.

On a whim, Rumlow dials a number, not expecting anyone to pick up. To his surprise, a familiar sleepy yet still self-righteous sounding asshole answers, demanding who it is.

"Does your husband miss me on days like today?" Rumlow asks Steve. 

The line goes dead. Anyway, Rumlow has his answer. Twenty years flew by like nothing.

Happy fucking New Years.


End file.
